


Forget the Night

by LilosBox



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fingerfucking, Romance, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 18:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11560788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilosBox/pseuds/LilosBox
Summary: She's always there for him, especially now, when he needs her the most.





	Forget the Night

It was so unlike him to come barging in like this. There were times when he would come in without my noticing, to consult me about a case he was working on. He—the consulting detective himself—wanted my opinion. Of course, he never wanted more than that. As soon as he'd come, he would disappear, just like that. However, tonight was different. This time, he wanted more than my opinion of why someone or something was the way they were, or why someone or something did what they did. No, this was something else, but what, I could not tell.

I had just finished my bath for the evening when I found him sitting by the window, poised in a way that was strangely mysterious. He said nothing, as he was looking out into the night with a deep, thoughtful look on his timeless face. When I made a noise to let him know I was there, he continued to ignore me as if I didn't exist. Since our first encounter, it hadn't taken me long to understand that this was how he was most of the time—so lost in his own mind, which never seemed to stop turning. He usually sat like this for hours, just thinking. Normally, I'd preoccupy myself until he snapped out of his haze. Tonight, however, I did something a little different. I wrapped my black kimono cardigan tightly around me before sitting on the couch beside him. Leaning my head back against the cushions, I watched him from a clearer view.

Just as I expected, his eyes were vacant and his body was completely unmoving. I furrowed my brows as I studied his features; something I had never really done so much before. Now was the perfect chance to see him as he was without his constant moving about. His features were incredibly sharp. This was something I had noticed already before, but now, as I sat here watching him, I only realized then how wicked they really were. The angle of his jaw and the taut tendons of his neck I swear were chiseled from marble. It only added to the effect of his timelessness. A small smile twitched at the corners of my mouth when I saw one of his fingers twitch out of the corner of my eye.

Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective of 221B Baker Street, was awaking.

There wasn't much warning before he came spiraling back down to reality—just the simple twitch of his fingers and a little from his dark brow. When his head snapped to the side so that he was looking straight into my eyes, my breath hitched in my throat and I immediately froze, captured by his piercing gaze. He blinked a couple of times before exhaling in one long breath, as if he had been holding it all that time. I swallowed in anticipation, waiting for him to say something to me, to acknowledge my presence formally. Instead, he turned his head away towards the window to assume his former position. A flash of disappointment gave me the reason to believe he wouldn't be talking any time soon. However, just as I stood to walk away, his soft, deep voice cut through the icy silence between us.

"Do you find me...appealing?" he said softly.

His voice immediately warmed my heart, filling me with joy. To hear him speak after nearly a week of disappearance was more satisfying than simply seeing him in the flesh. Though I pleased he acknowledged me, I couldn't help but give him a quizzical look. He didn't see me, as he was still facing the window.

"Why do you ask?" I replied, returning to the couch.

I leaned over the armrest, giving him my full attention. Then, he quickly looked at me with a shocked expression on his face as if he had just seen a ghost. My face contorted in confusion.

"Sherlock," I said, "tell me what's wrong."

Sherlock swallowed hard before sweeping his eyes over my body. I could tell he was nervous and unsure of himself, but for what reason I did not know. Now I was deeply concerned. It was true he confided in me to share his deepest, darkest feelings with great discomfort, but he had never looked this upset before.

"Sherlock," I whispered. "Please talk to me."

"Do you find me appealing?" he repeated with a little more confidence.

I laughed nervously, unsure of what to say. Why would Sherlock Holmes care about a tedious thing like that?

"I don't know what you—"

"Would you make love to me?"

My heart nearly stopped beating completely. How could I answer something like that? It was somewhat shocking initially, but I found it slightly amusing at the same time. Sherlock was a man of logic and reason. He had told me once before that love was a weakness, and that he refused to become a victim of it. This included having any relationship whatsoever, including sex. Especially sex. Apparently, it created a poisonous chemical that would eventually lead to commitment and feelings. How childish his viewpoints were, and yet how true they really are. Yet here he was, asking me a question I never would have expected him to ask me in a million years.

"Your mind is absolutely brilliant, Sherlock," I began.

"But...?" he prompted.

"No, no," I said quickly. "There's nothing wrong with you. You're wonderful, really. I just can't imagine you...ever caring about something like that."

His jaw clenched, and he hesitated briefly before standing to pace the room slowly. I watched as he aimlessly walked about, clearly thinking of something. When watching him became too much, I went to stand in front of him. He stopped abruptly, looking down at me with stunning aquamarine eyes. I had always thought Sherlock was physically attractive. His genius only made him more appealing to me ever since I first met him. The truth was that I had never really given it much thought. In fact, the thought had never even crossed my mind before, until now.

"Would you make love to me?" he asked again, leaning in closer to me.

The warmth of his breath on my face caused me to close my eyes in bliss. At that point, I started shamelessly imagining what it would be like to give myself to him. Unsurprisingly enough, it was extremely difficult to imagine. When I reopened them, I found that it had suddenly become hard to breathe. My hand found its way to the collar of his button-up shirt, and I allowed my fingers to stroke the soft fabric attentively.

"Why me?" I asked, looking up at him.

A small smile played across his lips, but he looked nervous.

"Because I don't even know your name," he said, covering my hand with his own. "I told you from the beginning that I would only use you as my listener. You were not to be a close companion, but a convenient outlet for whenever I needed it most. Initially, I wanted you to be faceless. With no name, it dehumanizes you—makes you insignificant. No strings attached."

"You sound as if you're trying to convince yourself, Mr. Holmes," I said. "Is this truly a test? Is this how you really feel?"

He looked even more nervous than before.

"In all actuality, I have wanted to do this for quite some time now."

His voice sounded slightly constricted as he spoke. I was very much aware that he was leaning in closer, but I did nothing about it. He spoke again when his lips were practically touching mine.

"May I?" he murmured to me.

The smallest lick of friction triggered an explosion in my heart. I answered by pressing my lips tenderly to his. Sherlock inhaled sharply through his nose at the intimate contact we now shared. For a moment, he hesitated before moving his mouth in sync with mine. It was an experience to feel how unpracticed he was. Who would ever imagine the consulting detective, for once, had hardly any idea what he was doing? I grinned, breaking our kiss in the process. He took a step back, but I grabbed his arm before he could walk away.

"Is that it, then?" I said, still smiling.

"For now, yes."

Just like that, he swiftly made his exit through the door, leaving me alone to ponder what had just happened.

~ . ~ . ~

In the morning, I half expected to see Sherlock Holmes in my bedroom. Instead, I woke to the blinding light of the sun. Work was hardly any worry—it was the process of getting ready that was such a bother. To my surprise, I managed, but it was a little difficult for me to focus once the real day's work began. All I could think about was how he had moved around me. No matter what I did to try and stop it, my thoughts always strayed to him. It was like a sickness that followed me everywhere I went. On my way to the tube, all I could think about was how soft and perfect his lips felt on mine. When I arrived at the library, the only thing on my mind was Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. For three whole days, he left me suffering in anticipation as to what was going to happen next.

Then finally, it came.

It was on a night much like the last one—calm, peaceful, and an aura of mystery, which seemed to shroud all surroundings. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming—or rather having an extreme case of déjà vu—because after coming out of the shower, he was there by the window frozen in the exact same position as he was before. My breath hitched in my throat as I abruptly came to a stop at the entrance to the living room. After a moment of pure silence, he spoke to me, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I would have come sooner."

He stood and turned to face me.

"Why didn't you?" I asked, my voice just as quiet.

"I was on a case," he answered as he crossed the room slowly until he was standing in front of me.

I looked directly up at him. The tips of his fingers brushed against my cheek as he reached to tuck my hair behind my ear. I allowed my eyes to close as a wave of pure bliss washed over me. Nothing else mattered in this moment. There was nothing but him and me, standing in the middle of what felt like Nirvana. I couldn't help but wonder one thing.

"What kind of case?" I asked, slowly opening my eyes. "Maybe I can help."

"No," he said immediately. "I don't want to think about that tonight. I want to try something else instead."

I bit the inside of my cheek, and then said, "How may I assist you?"

Instead of giving me a verbal answer, he leaned down to press his lips to mine. His hand came up to hold the back of my neck and he pressed his thumb into the pulse under my jawline. I imagine he was checking the elevation, deducing how much I was enjoying it. My response must have pleased him because he gradually increased the pressure of his grip. I felt his other hand splay across my lower back, warming my skin through the silk of my kimono. Underneath, I was completely naked. The thought of him stripping me down to nothing sent a pleasurable shiver up my spine, and I was starting to lose all control. I deepened the kiss, now requesting access into his mouth. He gladly accepted. Our tongues moved together sensually in some sort of exotic dance, so powerful and exhilarating it made my head spin. Sherlock surprised me when he broke away to lift me up into the air. I wrapped my legs around his waist, throwing my arms around his neck, and continued to kiss him sweetly, passionately. I felt him move across the room until we were in my bedroom where he laid me down gently as if I were an infant child.

Without hesitation, I spread my legs for him, causing my kimono to fall away. Sherlock stared in wonder at first, but quickly composed himself as he placed his hands on my knees, glancing up at me as if to say, "What now?"

"Touch me," I whispered.

He looked down at my sex, which I could feel was already dripping with arousal. It was fascinating to watch him, so inexperienced and unsure of what to do. As soon as the tip of his finger touched me, I tensed, a tiny sound of pleasure squeaking past my lips. My toes curled when he started rubbing, and my hips bucked involuntarily in response. It didn't take him long to find my entrance.

"Oh!" I gasped as he pushed his finger ever so slowly inside me.

Quickly, I grabbed his wrist, frantically trying to fuck myself on him. With great care, he wrapped his other hand around my arm as he gently pulled me off, and he pinned it to the pillow beside my head. I whined when he continued his painfully slow movement—in and out, in and out, in and out. Finally, he pulled out to begin stripping his clothes off. As he slowly revealed himself, I marveled at every inch that he uncovered. Once his white button-up was tossed across the room, he moved to the zipper of his trousers. His erection was released, and I couldn't help but gawk.

Before I could say anything, though, he crawled over top of me to place a kiss on my mouth. It was hot and brimming with shameless desire. I hadn't even known he had put himself at my entrance until he slowly thrusted in. I gasped sharply as I felt him stretch me open every centimeter. He grunted as I clenched around his length, and for a moment, he stopped to let me adjust. Then, he began to move. His motions were slow, languid, but somehow had me squirming as if he were taking me roughly from behind.

Eventually, he became more confident, gradually thrusting harder and faster. He hit a certain spot that caused me to whimper and moan uncontrollably, and he was cruel to continue to hit it, over and over and over again.

"That's it...that's it," I whispered tangling my fingers in his hair. "Oh..."

Sherlock may have been inexperienced, but he still fucked like a god. The bed began to creak and groan underneath us as he rocked me with his cock. I moaned as he pressed his forehead against mine and kissed him when words were suddenly hard to speak. His breath was hot against my face as he panted, grunted, and groaned. Now the bedframe was softly bumping into the wall as he picked up the pace. It was a wonder how I survived the intensity of him completely overwhelming me with such a powerful force. Then, he hit a spot that nearly made me come undone in that moment.

"Sherlock!" I whimpered, gripping the sheets, knuckles white with desire. "Don't stop—don't...!"

We were touching and kissing, crashing and burning—heading straight towards an all-out train wreck. I tugged at his hair, borderline roughly, as I arched my back up into him. This only drove him mad. The sounds he made sent electrifying tingles all over my body, and I soon found that this is what my became my undoing. My body convulsed violently as my climax crashed over me like a rogue wave in the tempest. Sherlock cried out, spilling his hot, burning seed inside me, still thrusting as if a higher power had possessed him to keep going. He rode it out like a cowboy, unable to produce words when he finally slowed to a stop. He collapsed on top of me and we lie there, panting over each other like dogs on a hot summer's day.

When we both seemed to have caught our breath, he pushed himself off the bed to dress himself. I gathered every ounce of strength in my upper body to push myself up and lean against the headboard, watching him as he slipped back into his trousers.

"You're not really leaving, are you?" I said quietly, my voice tired and raspy.

"I have to," he said without looking at me.

As he threw on his coat, he made his way to the door. Before he left, I stopped him.

"Sherlock."

He looked back at me, still adjusting his collar.

"Will you come back?" I asked.

With only a moment of hesitation, he came back to me, brushing the hair out of my face as he cupped my cheek. He placed a lasting kiss on my lips, and then whispered:

"Always."


End file.
